


fool's gambit

by hinotorihime



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chessverse AU, Gen, Soviet Union, but the fic contains:, germanics, i didn't want to tag everyone, mention of FACE, supposed to be low-key horror, ymmv how that comes across
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotorihime/pseuds/hinotorihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a game, he tells himself. Only a game, like all the other games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fool's gambit

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this picture.](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=45384282)

**white to open.**

* * *

Sunlight pours lazily across the landscape. It pools between the trees and under Raivis’s soles and he bounces, impatient, on the balls of his feet. The dark undergrowth makes a neat line where it joins the pale grass that he is standing on, and if he looks to his left, there is more forest—and he does, constantly, turning his head back and forth with narrowed eyes. It’ll be Heidi, he’s almost certain; just as his family picked him to stand watch here, when the sun was barely a thought on the edge of the horizon. (He forces down a yawn, exhaustion warring with anticipation. He hates the Rules sometimes. But—

_Pʟᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜ Wʜɪᴛᴇ._

—they both know he can’t move until Heidi does.)

Movement out of the corner of his eye: a flash of cream and silver.

Raivis pulls his black-hilted knife out of its sheath and sprints forward, into the trees.

**pawn to e5.**

* * *

Tolys pushes his visor up and glances sideways at Eduard, who is standing perfectly still with his dark robes catching a non-existent wind, staff shining gold in the noon sunlight.

“Think we’ll get lucky this time?” he asks.

“ _Ha_!” snorts his brother, and Tolys, feeling completely in agreement, spurs his horse forward with a yell. A single leap and he’s cleared the hedge easily and is galloping toward Erszebet’s back. She turns just in time and catches his sword on her own, enough force in the blow to send him reeling back almost to the hedge again.

“You seriously thought that would work?” she scoffs. Tolys laughs shortly.

“Anything’s worth a try,” he tells her. Her eyes dart to the side: Eduard stands a square away, twirling his staff casually. The White King has his sword out, back against a grey stone wall.

“You’re pinned to him, Erszi,” Tolys calls. “Let’s make a show of it, shall we?”

Erszebet swears and looks back at her King again. Roderich’s face is pale.

_Iғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴɢ ɪs ɪɴ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜᴇ ɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ._

“ _Climb_ , damn you!” she screams, and when Roderich drops his sword and throws himself toward the wall, she whirls back with her own sword high and makes a sweeping slash across Tolys’s horse’s side.

The horse rears and bucks and Tolys has to pull his foot out of the stirrup so it doesn’t get trapped. Erszebet follows through with a desperate lunge; he kicks her elbow with a booted foot, hears her cry out in pain, feels the horse right itself, and he swings the flat of his sword across his body with as much power as he can muster and sends Erszebet’s weapon loose in her grasp. She stumbles and falls to one knee.

Tolys sweeps downward and separates her head from her shoulders without a flicker of hesitation.

“He got away,” Eduard says from his square, voice soft with the expected disappointment.

“At least he’s down his Knight,” Tolys points out. “That makes it easier for us, later.” It would have been a lot easier, of course, if it weren’t for the damned Rules, but there’s no helping that. He’d rather lose than watch a set go out again; _that’s_ a memory he _wishes_ he could forget.

He glances down wearily as he wipes his sword.

He always liked Erszebet.

**knight d5 takes knight b6.**

* * *

Natalya stands on the turret, braiding her hair back, waiting. Inside the castle, Ivan paces the King’s throne room, biting his nails. Neither of them have dared to move yet; it didn’t take them very long to realize that they can’t afford to move this early. _Tʜᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴏᴋ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴄᴀsᴛʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴜsᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜsʟʏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ_ : the Rules would void their strongest defense if they did, and breaking the Rules means forfeiting the game.

(And Tolys’s stubbornness has caused them two forfeits already, they’re treading on thin ice. _There used to be another set, a Red King with a cocky smile and far too much love for freedom_ —)

Ivan hears footsteps thudding from the corner of the castle, and his sister’s face appears in the corner of his vision.

“They’ve sent their Queen,” she says. “You’re not in danger yet—you’ve got to go.”

He pulls her into a quick hug and kisses her forehead.

“Good luck, Tasha,” he murmurs. She kisses him back.

“The same to you. Now go.”

He loosens his sword in its sheath and hurries into the next room. Natalya strides forward, to the gate, and plants her weapon firmly in the ground before her. Challenging. Defiant. (Vaguely, she remembers fire and darkness, _“You shall not pass!”_ and ominous music swelling from tinny speakers. No names, though, no details, not anymore.)

Ludwig has stopped three squares away, lopsided diagonal from her. He nods at her calmly, silver crown glinting red in the afternoon sunlight.

 _He’s waiting for Basch_ , Natalya thinks. Ludwig is smart enough not to waste time dancing around her; Rook and Queen together can take a Rook, but they are too evenly matched right now, movements constrained by the Rules to a frustrating back-and-forth.

Once again, Natalya settles to wait.

**black castles.**

* * *

The sunlight is hot and sticky and red, pouring lazy over the landscape like molten glass. Tick tock tick tock, thinks Tolys, they’re on the clock. _Pʟᴀʏᴇʀs ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴡɪɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ ɪs ᴜᴘ._

His Queen squeezes his hand, staring straight ahead and fiddling with her trident.

“We’re going for it, then,” she says. Tolys nods. A nervous weight is settling in his stomach; he accepts it, lets it fill him, and then firmly shuts the feeling out of his mind. He’s not afraid, not really. This is just a game, just a dream, and they’re going to Win, they have to, he just has to do his part and let Irina do hers.

Irina makes her move.

The sun sinks lower.

There’s a pinkish glow across from him, the sunset-light painted across white-and-silver robes. Tolys canters forward, uneven diagonal, to take a careless swing at Gilbert’s head, then dances backward.

“How many have you got left now, Beilschmidt?” he taunts. “I took your Knight out long ago, and your Rook, and your Queen’s stuck on the other side of the board!”

“I can take you all by myself,” Gilbert retorts.

“Before I jump over your head to get to your precious, useless King?”

This is just a game, he tells himself, trying to keep his breathing even while Gilbert lashes out with the staff, misses, throws himself forward (away from the castle he’s supposed to be guarding). Only a game, like all the other games _. If this works we get to go home. Gil and I will go drinking together and complain about our families and none of this will matter anymore._

He makes another move backward and Gilbert follows.

“You’re a bastard, Laurinaitis,” says the White Bishop.

_—it’s just a game—_

Neither Raivis or Ivan can stop themselves from crying out when the staff sinks through Tolys’s lung. He hisses in pain, lets go of the reins, lets himself fall—

**bishop g7 takes knight f6**

* * *

Irina hears Tolys die and White’s turn end and because the sun is hovering barely above the horizon she doesn’t waste any time. Gilbert is too far away to catch her, now; he shouldn’t have wasted their turns like that but he must be as sick of this as she is.

(They’re all too good at this, is the problem; but making stupid decisions isn’t against the Rules, falling for a sacrifice gambit doesn’t count as a forfeit. And captures are fun to watch, Irina hopes. Of all the Rules, that’s the most important: _ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ʙᴏʀɪɴɢ_.)

Her short hair whips into her mouth as she runs.

Her little sister can’t remember anymore, but Irina can, and she knows Tolys used to. But they’ve stopped talking about their lives before the game. There’s no point. With every sunset that passes, the memories slip farther and farther away, and now all they have left is the Rules, planted in their heads along with the sick hope that today they’ll be able to Win instead of winning, and Irina only knows one way to Win.

The sun’s bottom edge touches the ground.

Roderich closes his eyes and lets her twirl her trident against his throat.

**checkmate.**

* * *

_In the moonlight, a slim, bloodied hand twitches slightly._

_Ivan kneels beside his Knight and waits quietly, the crypt-like air cold and stale in his lungs, until dark eyes flutter open. Then he stands, bends, pulls Tolys to his unsteady feet._

_“Ready to play again?” he asks._

_Tolys’s sigh sounds more like a sob._

_**white to open…** _


End file.
